


The Universalists

by FetFemme



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Dark, Colonist (Mass Effect), F/M, Female Character of Color, Heavy Angst, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 2: Arrival, Mass Effect 3, Psychological Torture, Renegade Commander Shepard, Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), Torture, Unrequited Love, Violence, past liara/shepard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9348137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FetFemme/pseuds/FetFemme
Summary: Shepard awakes in Cerberus Labs deeply traumatized and learns just how hard it is to rebuild her life and all the trust of her loved ones after spending two years dead.Covers some of ME2 and a lot of ME3, some flashbacks to ME1. Gonna get angsty/dark/emotional, lots of internal dialogue, probably won't get good til 5-6 chapters in. Finished ch4. Shakarian, lemon ahead in later chapters. There is a few chapters that will include vivid torture and mentions of non-con. While the story will be mostly canon, there is a lot of dark AU stuff going on in the meanwhile. You may hate me later.





	1. You were never truly loved

**Author's Note:**

> Covers some of ME2 and a lot of ME3, some flashbacks to ME1. Gonna get angsty/dark/emotional, lots of internal dialogue, probably won't get good til 5-6 chapters in. Finished ch4. Shakarian, lemon ahead in later chapters. There is a few chapters that will include vivid torture and mentions of non-con. While the story will be mostly canon, there is a lot of dark AU stuff going on in the meanwhile. You may hate me later.
> 
> POV switch throughout the story.

Drowning in the steam-like clouds of her leaking oxygen tank as she drifted towards the atmosphere of Alchera. Her cries were weak and hysteric, her body was weightless amongst the stars but the sheer amount of effort it took to desperately clasp at her life support made her body feel like it weighed like a ton of bricks. She silenced, attempting to calm herself down without taking the long deep breaths that she usually took-

In. Out.

No, wait, don’t do that. I shouldn't breathe.

In. Out.

Focus. Conserve oxygen.

-but after a moment, she tried to kick out her legs again.

In her head, violently suffering from the lack of breath, she was trying to push herself away from the rushing pull of Alchera, hoping that an Alliance vessel would materialize just in time to send a shuttle soaring within her grasp. But the dying part of her, the last logical bit left, knew that she would die by the time she hit the atmosphere, if not before. She felt the icy depths of space bleed through her suit, the last of the oxygen hissing away as her chest grew impossibly tight, and her eyes were too heavy to blink again. Just as she saw the last of the Normandy fall out of sight and into the atmosphere, she closed her eyes for what she thought was the last time.

In death, she dreamt pieces of her childhood on Mindoir. Visions flooded her consciousness, or lack thereof: Her father combing back her dark red dreadlocks with his fingertips sweetly. Her mother's chest puffing out in pride as her only daughter shot her first pistol. Her older and younger brother weaving in and out of the barns on their land, tickling the air with laughter. The few friends she'd made at the troubled kids' home during that dark period in her adolescence. Her first time being promoted in the Alliance. Every good moment flashed across her eyes. Every good moment.

She felt her father's hugs, her mother's kisses, her brothers' roughhousing, every lover's touch, every animal that she’d pet, every shot of ryncol she drank joyously with overzealous soldiers and krogans, every soft blanket she touched. She felt like everyone would be okay after her death, not because she was glad to be gone, but because she-

Commander Shepard has been recovered; The Lazarus Project will proceed as planned.

There, on the monitor, something's wrong.

She's reacting to outside stimuli, showing an awareness of her surroundings...Oh my god Miranda, I think she's waking up. 

Her eyes opened, sight blurred and bleary. An older balding man was leering down at her, dressed in all white. A beautiful woman swept into her line of sight, looking down at her with an air of panic.

Damn it Wilson, she's not ready yet, give her the sedative! Shepard- Don't try to move, just lie still and try to stay calm.

Her heart rate is climbing, brain activity off the charts. Stats pushing into the red zone, it's not working, her metabolism is too high.

Another dose- now!

All Shepard could feel was pain. Her eyes started to close again.

Heart rate dropping, states falling back into the normal range… That was too close, we almost lost her.

All Shepard could see beyond the murkiness were determined blue eyes.

I told you the estimates were off. Run the numbers again.

After that, all she could was hear was silence.

She did not return to her visions of Mindoir.

She, instead, slowly came to on a table in an empty room, groggy and oblivious to the destruction going around her. Fires have been started, flames licking at the door temporarily separating her from the chaos, screams sent a layer of morbid echoes to her through the air vents, the sound of gunfire liberally breaking through the windows. None of this even caused her eyes to twitch with minimal awareness. Until a voice erupted over the P.A. system, not quite screaming, but yelling with a sense of desperation.

"Shepard, your scars aren't healed but I need you to get moving. This facility is under attack. There's a pistol in the locker on the other side of the room. Hurry!"

Commander Jane Shepard fully awoke with a start, the voice urging her into action. She rolled off the table, falling gracelessly to the floor because her body was slowed down by some form of sleep-induced lethargy. She kneaded her upper thighs quickly, shaking off the needle-like pinprick sensations in her muscles, before shooting up and scrambling for the gun several feet away from her.

"Grab the pistol and then the armor from the locker. We don't have time to wait around, Shepard, grab it!"

She checked the gun and was sorely disappointed to find that it wasn’t any gun she was used to shooting. It was also hollow, as if it were an old gun that required an ammunition clip,

"It's a medbay, we'll get you a clip from-!" The P.A. system insisted before pausing, "Damn it!". 

Shepard looked up warily at the speaker system on the ceiling, hoping that there was actually a person at the other end of this and it was not a hallucination fueled by her adrenaline. She opened the locker door and eyed the suit of armor that was conveniently made to fit the curves of her muscular body, she hastily put it on, her fingers oddly fumbling with all the buckles and intricacies.

"Those canisters by the door are going to explode. Keep your head down from the blast. Someone's hacking security trying to kill you! There should be a thermal clip in the next room."

She shook off the feelings of suspicions and jogged through the doorway, finding a discarded but full clip for her newly acquired gun. She felt a lot safer with a loaded pistol in her palms, although she forced herself to ignore the small voice in the back of her mind asking if she’d even loaded the gun right. She cautiously entered the next room, scoping for any form of hostile target. She ran at a muted pace through the next room, still cautious of any unwelcome foe until the P.A. system yelled at her once more.

"Take cover behind that barricade, they are closing in on our position."

She dropped to a crouch and pressed her shoulder up against a crate, listening for the number of footsteps to indicate just how many people she was about to engage in a fire-fight with while she was still in a particularly vulnerable position. She heard the hollow but heavy echo of metal footfall, so she rose from her crouch and fired into the hacked mechs. 

She noticed the the handle of her gun didn’t emanate heat into the palms of her hand. She carefully fired six shots and waited for the low pulsing rhythm that reminded her to give the gun cooling time. Instead, a clip popped out of the gun and remained open.

She looked frantically around for a second clip and found one by her feet. She ducked back into cover and jammed the clip into the bottom of her gun. She noted nervously that there was no heat sink built into this gun. The previous clip had ejected with a sharp hiss, so where ever she was had technology beyond common grasp. She decided to keep an eye out for any other clues that let her know where she was. 

Each mech clattered to the ground and she jogged past them. The P.A. system guided her through the lower level of the facility, until the overwhelming wave of static and gunfire drowned it into silence. 

Finally, for the first time since she'd woken up, she was completely alone. 

She leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the ground, the images of blood splattered windows and discarded bodies freshly painted in her mind. She purposefully avoided the many questions she had. After running around the facility, fighting mechs every step of the way, her body hurt. Not the inevitable hurt that comes with battle wounds, but the aching soreness that she remembers having after boot camp, or N7 training. The aching hurt of overexertion. It was unsettling; last she remembered she was as fit as a soldier. She could easily run a couple of miles, shooting targets on the way, she could do obstacles without getting winded, and right now, she has no physical proof of that. Her body is heavy, her palms and face had a thin sheen of sweat, but she didn't feel tired just yet.

"My shot was off with those mechs." She muttered to herself, looking down at her slightly trembling hands, "How long has it been since I shot a gun? Pistols are child's play." What happened after the Normandy went after those geth? Then she froze. Are there other members of the Normandy here?

She jumped to her feet, her vigor renewed by the fear pooling around her stomach. She ran out the door and up the stairs, erring less on the side of caution than before. She paused only as she ran past a grenade launcher propped up against a wall. She decided that it would be a useful thing to have despite the exhaustion that came with lugging heavy armor on her body. The next doorway led to a bridge, where a dark skinned man sank behind the wall of the bridge for cover, sending a biotic blue blast to some enemy out of her line of sight. She pushed forward, keeping low but sending a shot at some of the mechs. She ducked low, the bridge wall now providing cover for both of them temporarily.

"Shepard? What the hell? What are you doing here, I thought you were still a work in progress." the man said, torn between focusing on the mechs and looking at her in confusion.

A work in progress? She shook off his choice of words, "Are you with Miranda?"

"Listen," she spat out, annoyed and confused by his pause, "I don't know where I am or why, so how about you fill you me in?"

He swore and ducked his head in embarrassment, "Shit. Yeah, I'm sorry. I forgot this is all new to you. I'm Jacob Taylor, I'm stationed here. This must be worse than I thought if Miranda's got you up and running." He paused, peeking at the mechs over the wall, which had regrouped and were aiming at him. He turned to her, "Listen, I'll fill you in but we've got to get to the shuttles first, before we're overrun by all of these."  
"I know this isn't the best time, but I'm sick of stumbling around when I don't know what's going on. Is anyone else from my ship here on this station?"

"Fair enough, I'll give you a quick rundown. You and your ship were attacked and destroyed. You were killed, dead as dead can be when they brought you here. Our scientists spent the last two years putting you back together. You've been comatose, or worse, that whole time. Welcome back to your life, Commander."

Shepard looked around cautiously, "This doesn't look like an Alliance facility."

Jacob looked away, "It isn't, that's all I can say for now. The Alliance officially declared you KIA, the whole galaxy thinks you're dead. And if we don't get to the shuttles soon, they'll be right."

The weight of his words weighed heavily upon her, there was finally fear, betrayal, devastation, and anger. "Were there any survivors from the Normandy?" She asked quietly.

"I'll tell you what- you help me finish off these mechs, and I'll play 20 questions with you all day."

With the destruction of the mechs, came more silence. Jacob looked over himself for injuries, then glanced at her briefly, "We have to keep moving, but I promised to answer your questions. What do you want to know?"

"They spent two years rebuilding me…" She paused, "How badly was I injured?"

"I'm no doctor, but it was bad. When I first saw you, you were nothing but meat and tubes." He looked down, "Anywhere else, they would've put you in a coffin. But Project Lazarus was different, top of the line, cutting edge technology."

"What do you mean? Am I clone, a cyborg?" She asked calmly, pushing down the crippling vulnerability that tagged alongside her fear. What am I?

Jacob shook his head, loading another heat sink into his gun, "I don't know the details honestly, I'm more of a gun guy. You'd have to ask the scientists. I'm pretty sure you're not a clone, they wanted to bring you back exactly as you were. You were the only subject of Project Lazarus, the whole point was to bring just you back. It took the whole two years, all of our scientists are in the best in the galaxy with all the best technology money can buy." He paused, "You're still you, just might have a few extra bits and pieces now."

Shepard nodded blankly, trying to file away her panic for once she's out of the line of fire. "Do you know anything about this attack?"

"Damned if I know, I'm as clueless as you. I was getting ready for some shut-eye- then suddenly bam! A bunch of explosions everywhere, every damn mech is hacked and are killing everyone in sight. It had to be an inside job." He growled, pacing a short line, "You'd need top security to hack all of these mechs."

"Wait, the last thing I remember is the Normandy blowing up. Did anyone else make it? Is anyone else here?" She snarled, afraid someone she cared about or respected being trapped into this very dark and illegal looking project.

"Just about everyone on the ship survived, most had evacuated before you died. Around twenty service members died, a few from the lower deck, and Navigator Pressley was killed in an explosion. Even the non-Alliance members- that asari, Liara, the quarian, the turian- they all made it out alive."

"Did you know Liara?" She asked suspiciously, "She was the only one you referred to by her first name."

"I've never met her." He said shortly.

"Do you know what any of them are doing now?" She asked desperately.

"I don't know, Commander, it's been two years. They've all moved on, left the alliance. Could be anywhere really."

"Better than here." She sighed, looking at her feet. After a moment, she squared her shoulders, "They're my team. If they knew about me- that I was alive- they would come back."

Jacob looked uncomfortable, but his omnitool lit up brightly and a new voice rushed over the speaker, "Check! Check! Anyone on this frequency? Anybody alive? Hello?"

"Wilson? This is Jacob! I'm here with Commander Shepard, we just took out a wave of mech in the D-Wing."

"How the hell.. Shepard's alive? Never mind that. You need to get her out of here. Get to the service tunnels and head for the network control room."

"Wilson? I think I remember a Wilson checking on me once when I woke up."

"He's the chief medical tech, answers directly to Miranda. We have to get moving,"


	2. You've Only Been Betrayed

After waves of fighting, Shepard sat down numbly, her mind overloaded, her body sore and angry, her hands resting limply on her lap. She had a crazy day, she woke up from the dead, killed a bunch of things, and now she has the brain matter of Wilson -who turned out to be a traitor- splattered all over her armor as she sat in a cruiser that belong to a widely known human terrorist organization. She needed a bath. And a lot more answers than what she's been getting so far.

"Before you meet the Illusive man, we need to ask you a few questions to evaluate your condition," Miranda said, settling down into a seat by Jacob. Her voice, the one she now recognizes as the one frantically spitting instruction over the PA, was starting to grate on Shepard.

"Seriously, Miranda?" Jacob asked, "Shepard took down those mechs without any trouble, that has to be good enough."

"It's been two years since the attack;" she glared darkly, "The Illusive Man needs to know that Shepard's personality and memories are intact. Just ask the damn questions, start with personal history."

Jacob sighed and shifted to face Shepard, "Records show that you grew up on Mindoir, a small farming colony, with your parents and brothers. What do you remember about that?"

In a clipped voice, she quickly relayed her memories about the old farmhouse, the brutal massacre of her home colony and death of her family, and her troubled times that followed. Then did the same for his questions about Akuze, her fingers twitching to stroke the scars on her thighs and side in memory. And Virmire, a dull ache spreading through her chest at the memory of Ashley. Her horror as the council died before her. And finally, her death, the vivid details of her asphyxiation still pulling at the threads of her concentration. She held back a shiver at the thought of space's sub zero temperatures.

Then she met the Illusive Man and was angry all over again, but this time, at the cigar scented, smug, leader of the organization. But she held onto it, directing her anger at the Reapers, as well as her desperate need to find her friends so she could have someone she trusted at her back.

Shepard sat with her new body, on her new couch, in her new cabin on the SR-2.  
Reality was finally sinking in. She had been dead for two years. She had no remaining family to mourn her, she had a few old friends from when she was a teenager, a few soldiers, and -of course- the Normandy crew. She was sure she was mourned by the masses. As little as she cared, the death of the first human spectre was something the Council would not let go unnoticed. She wondered if there was a big funeral.

She got her first taste of what it would be like to re-introduce herself to the galaxy. Joker cracked a joke, big surprise, but his chest puffed up in pride when he revealed the SR-2. There was something darker behind his eyes, the quiet, confident -almost arrogant- man seemed deflated, tired. Chakwas took everything in stride as always, welcoming her back. But Tali regarded her on Freedom's Progress with suspicion, with anger, she was cold and quick to irritation during their conversation. She doubted Shepard. It felt ugly and unnatural.

With a morbid sense of curiosity, she searched for her funeral on her computer, she found video clips and watched them piece by piece.

A long boring, ceremonious march, soldiers in dress blues carrying a closed casket on their shoulders, riflemen marching in front of them, there were planetary flags, men and woman at parade rest as the casket was gently places on a stand. The casket remained closed.

There was a video of the largest Citadel chapel pews. The human crew of the Normandy sat closer to the front, the alien crew more towards the middle. Kaidan was crying into his hands. Liara leaned on Tali as sobs shook both of their bodies. Joker sat near the walkway, his hat off his head and being wrung by his hands, self hatred in his eyes and a few tears trickling down his cheeks. Wrex stood near the wall, sipping from a flask built into his gauntlet with a somber look on his face. Garrus had his head bowed, a whine-like rumble in his subharmonics. The few turians there also rumbled to a lesser extent, but Garrus looked just as broken as the rest of the crew. Anderson stood in parade rest, his head bowed in defeat.

Speeches. There were so many speeches.

She shut off her computer. It was too much. She decided a shower was the best way to end this horrible day.  
She wandered inside her new bathroom, it was set up simply enough, she blankly walked forward to turn the water on. Little tendrils of steam started to fill up the room. She ran a hand over her head, quietly mourning the loss of the burgundy dreadlocks she’d spent most of her youth and all of her adulthood caring for. Her hair fanned out around her head in a kinky, wiry halo of an afro, no longer dyed a deep burgundy but her natural black. She sighed, not quite wanting to go through the work of re-dreading her hair, but also not ready to resign herself to night of oiling her hair and finding a hair dryer that worked on a military stealth ship. 

She leaned forward to examine her face in the mirror. Her green eyes were dark, purplish bruises of sleeplessness held her eyelids down heavily, and red-orange cybernetic scars decorated her face, radiating a low pulsing glow in contrast to her dark almond colored skin. She unzipped her uniform- an Alliance issued jacket, even though she was technically no longer a soldier- and stared hollowly at her naked body.

No longer did her body show a topographic map of scars, there was no longer a hideous thresher maw acid burn covering her upper thighs, stomach, and ribs, no more miscellaneous stab or bullet wounds from her N7 training, no thinly drawn line across her throat from Mindoir, just veins of the cybernetic glow running up her body. Most of it was in fairly small smatterings, but there was a thick solid line dissecting her from her bellybutton to where her breasts meet near the top of her chest, as well as long gashes on the side of her face. She looked away from the mirror and down at her body, noticing her breasts were rounder, she looked around and saw her thighs were a little more plump around her wide hips. She didn't feel like herself at all.

She was so used to seeing a scarred, tomboyish soldier looking back at her in the mirror, and now she feels exactly like she looks: a Cerberus toy.

The last few days were punishing with her sore body getting used to being an active soldier again. She redoubled her efforts to prioritize her workouts to keep her body in N7 shape, she set up rounds on the Normandy to get to know her new crew, and hopefully find someone else from the SR-1 onboard. She felt lucky enough to have Chakwas and Joker but loneliness was starting to seep into her body as well. Between planet mining- which she really hoped the Cerberus was legally authorized by the proper authorities-, her rounds, her workouts, and random missions to fight off any mercs or mechs, she generally hit the sack without even blinking at her room. She was asleep by the time she hit the pillow and it took her days to even notice that there was a fish tank across from her bed, stretching along the whole of most of her cabin.

However, today she spent most of her time reviewing dossiers for the team she and the Illusive Man are building for this suicide mission. To her distaste, a lot of details were missing from them, but she made work with what she had. She really wanted to see some familiar names. When she spoke with the Illusive Man about the whereabouts of her other former members, it seemed like they had all clearly moved on. Kaidan was making his way through the ranks of the Alliance. If he keeps up his route, he'll bypass her rank very soon. Liara was making her success in Illium, and Wrex was ruling his clan on Tuchanka. Garrus- much to Shepard's horror- had completely gone off the grid and assumed dead.

She flipped through the dossiers some more. She sighed heavily as she sorted through a merc, a convict, an assassin, a master thief, and a warlord, worried about the people she'd end up associating with. Though her curiosity did peak at the idea of a justicar, she'd have to look that up on the extranet for more information. Some merc named Archangel, the Professor, Mordin Solus, and a veteran named Zaeed Massani all happened to be on Omega. While Omega is one of the last places she wants to go, it's better to kill three birds with one stone and hope to god that at least two of them are more trusty to have in combat than Jacob and Miranda.

She finished pulling on her armor and picked her favorite guns to put in the slots. Having a fully stocked armory was one of the nicer things about working for terrorists. She snapped her helmet on and stood at the airlock with Miranda and Jacob.


	3. You Were Never Truly Nurtured by Churches or the State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recruiting Archangel  
> Garrus POV

Garrus let out a long suffering sigh, closing the vid before making another call, navigating through communication channels and connecting to Palaven. He had only one last thing to do. He rolled his neck side to side, setting his rifle down to steady on the window sill before crouching down to level his eye with the high-tech sight. The call rang monotonously, he hoped that his father would answer, he did not want his last call to be wasted on a breathless voicemail.

"Hello?"

"Dad?" Garrus asked, almost delirious with exhaustion.

"Garrus? Is that you? I- It’s been so long. We’ve all been worried about you." His father sounded kind of irritated, probably in the middle of something he would consider much more important than speaking to his hot headed, rebellious son. Garrus expected a lecture from his father. A lecture about duty and honor and family. A lecture about how you don’t abandon the people you care about and not contact them for almost two years. 

Garrus didn't have a care left in the world. Fuck that, they hadn't talked since he left the Citadel, his father can do his important stuff while his body was slowly cooling in the dirt of Omega soil. “Sorry about that, Dad. I’ve had… urgent matters to take care of.”

But to his surprise, his father didn’t lecture him at all.

“I see. Well, it’s good to hear your voice, Son. Your mother and sister…and I…have missed you. Very much.”

Garrus almost fell apart right then. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard such soft words from his father before. But the moment ended sooner than it began when Garrus rose to line up his rifle and knock out three free-lancers as they tried to make their way across the bridge. Garrus was sure his father had heard the shots over the connection, but Tavius Vakarian said nothing.

“So, Dad, I have something to say.”

“Yes, Son?”

“I – Damn it!” Garrus scoped out two more mercs, fired, and settled back against the wall, trying to find a way to silence his father’s inquiries. "Just a little target practice." He said absently trying to sooth his father, squeezing the trigger lightly at the face of another "freelance" merc.

"Then call me back later."

Garrus shrugged, despite that fact that his father couldn't see him. "I don't think I'll be able to do that... Too many targets." he croaked.

His father went silent as the implications sank in, he spoke after a brief hesitation, his voice almost shaky. "… I see."

"I just wanted to hear your voice." It sounded childish, coming from a seasoned, scarred vigilante, "Wanted to know how retirement was treating you. You good?" He shot at a couple more of the mercs. He really just wanted something to focus on other than how tired he was.

"I'm fine. Forget about that." He could tell his dad was trying to stay calm. "Son, I-"

"Listen, I don't have a lot of time. I wanted to say…" He trailed off. There were a lot of things he wanted to stay- that he loved him, that he wished he had been more like him, that he had listened more, that he called home more- he settled on making amends. "You were right about a lot of things- a lot more than I gave you credit for and I'm sorry we butted heads so much." Without his rules, without Shepard's rules, he had pushed too hard. This was his fault.

"I said forget about it." There was the authoritative note in his father's voice- the one that meant shut up and listen to him. "These targets you're practicing on—they're moving fast?" His voice held an urgent question- Can I, or any of my connections, get to you in time?-as if his father could drop everything and head down here; he would probably try if he thought could make it on time. No child would tell their parent that they were freely on Omega.

"So far, not fast enough but they're learning."

"How are your thermal clips?"

"You know how it is. Could always use a couple more." No use lying to the man, but he wasn't going to say that he was only limited to 25 shots before he would have to resort to a very tired hand to hand stance.

"Work with what you've got then. You don't stop pulling that trigger til it clicks, son." That was what Garrus had always loved about his dad. Another wave of freelancers was coming over the barricade and he studied them through the scope. His father said something about bullets and falling apart but Garrus wasn't paying attention. He'd caught a familiar insignia in his sights and froze.

A ghost past the threshold of the bridge. He shot out a few concussive rounds, expecting it to phase through her, but she just staggered back at the weight and kept running towards him while shooting him a dirty look with her narrowed eyes. It wasn't possible, but no other N7 dared to wear dark green armor.

He heard the frantic calls of mercenaries, "SHE'S WITH ARCHANGEL!", punctuated with a the boom of a shotgun and the squelching, choking sounds of lives ending. His heartbeat at a sprinter's pace, this spiked the fear that he had finally lost his mind. He had finally ended delusions of grandeur, having pictured the human woman he lost two years ago avenging his sanity with her heavenly weaponry. He choked on his breath, making his father shout desperately over the comm line.

"Garrus!" The terrified father cried.

"I think I'll be okay." He lied quietly, "Reinforcements should come in any moment now. I have to go, Dad, just remember that I love you, mom, and Sol."

Honestly, he expected to come to a sense of clarity, waking up to find himself pushed to his knees while Garm of the Blood Pack towered over him with bloodlust glazing over his eyes. A cold barrel pressed against the roundness of his helmet, a boot at the keel-bone of his chest. He would rather live in his delusion. He kept his sniper rifle perched on the window ledge, shooting mercs- despite that he was now convinced they were frantic delusions created to avoid the unseemly reality of his oncoming death.

He heard several pairs of shoes heavily treading on the hard floors behind him. One pair of new military combat boots (he could tell by the way the soles squeaked against the tiles), and old pair of combat boots, and a more feminine pair of boots clicking quickly.

"Archangel?" he froze, having heard a soft, but all too familiar, voice. In the last two years, never in his dreams did he hear that voice call him by his vigilante moniker. The memory of her voice always softly whispered into his cheek or harshly barked at him as if in the middle of a combat ground mission. This convinced him that this was the end. He asked the spirits to finally let him rest in peace with her and anyone else he had lost in his short life.

He heard them lowering their guns by their side, waiting expectantly, he held up a finger before he sent out a shot to go through the necks of two mercs running towards the building in a hasty formation. He turned around, his regrets in life flashing before his mind violently. He took of his helmet and turned around to sit down, just to allow himself a bit of rest before his demise.

He did not expect those uncommonly bright green eyes to look at him with shock. She stood as tall as she could with one hip cocked out, a shotgun resting heavily on her thigh, and her helmet balanced between her waist and her other arm. Her hair -last he'd seen it, the thick coarse strands tied into knots behind her back- was slicked tightly into a shiny bun low on her head. Behind her were two humans that he did not give the slightest fuck about.

"Shepard, I thought you were dead." he said in quiet awe.

"Garrus! What are you doing here?" She cried, gesturing excitedly by throwing her arms out.

"Just keeping my skills sharp, a little target practice,"

A flash of concerned flitted over her facial features, "You okay?"

"Been better. But it sure is good to see a friendly face. Killing mercs is hard work, especially on my own."

"We're here now. You're not alone anymore. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Ever since you died, things got a little got a little crazy." He admitted, "First the Council started to deny the Reapers even exist, then the Alliance, and then all the usual Citadel bureaucratic shit got too much. Figured I could do more good on my own. At least it's not hard to find criminals here. All I have to do is point my gun and shoot."

"Only you could manage to piss off every major merc organisation in the Terminus Systems." she said fondly, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back. The two humans behind her shifted with an awkward discomfort. The female one tapped her foot irritatedly, also tapping her pistol rhythmically against her mid-thigh. The man had his assault rifle held across his chest, itching to shoot more things.

"It wasn't easy. I reeeally had to work at it. I am amazed that they teamed up to fight me, they must really hate me." His voice dripped with sarcasm, a hint of playfulness entering his dual tones voice.

"And since when did you start calling yourself Archangel?" she grinned, missing the playful banter she has with her crew two years ago.

"It's just a name the locals gave me, for all my good deeds. I don't mind it, but please...it's just 'Garrus' to you."

She smiled genuinely, though still concerned a bit, "You got me good a few times, you know."

He fluttered his mandibles grimly. Even though it was only a moment ago, recalling that desperate phone call and facing the mounting odds of his mortality. “Concussive rounds only. No harm done. Didn't want to get the mercs getting suspicious." at her hum of mild disapproval, he added, "If I wanted to do more than take your shields downs, trust me, I'd have done it. Besides, you were taking your sweet time, I had to get you moving."

She shook her head, filing her questions away for later, "Well, we got here okay, but I don't think getting out will be as easy."

"No, it won't. That bridge has saved my life...funnelling all those witless idiots into a narrow range. But it works both ways. They'll slaughter us if we try to get out that way."

The brunette woman behind Shepard scoffed irritatedly, "So we just sit here and wait for them to take us out?"

"It's not all that bad. Let's wait for a crack in their defences and take our chances…It's not a perfect plan, but it's a plan."

"Garrus," Shepard said hesitantly, "how'd you get yourself into this mess?"

"My feelings got in the way of my better judgment." He felt another wave of exhaustion roll over him. "It's a long story. I'll make you a deal; you get us out of here alive and I'll tell you the whole damn thing." He froze, getting up and peeking out the window. "Hmm I think they've realized their infiltration team failed, I see some scouts. They've reinforced the other side...heavily. But they're not coming over the bridge yet. What are they waiting for?"

The sound of explosions ripping through the building and the room around them shakes violently, heat sinks were sent rolling across the floor, rations and suspicious looking needles clattered to the ground. Shepard fell forward, grasping her gun and raising it to eye level. Miranda stumbled forward, looking up towards the window, "What the hell was that?"

"Damn it. They've breached the lower level. Well, they had to use their brains eventually. You'd better get down there, Shepard. I'll keep the bridge clear."

"I didn't come all this way to let you die." She snapped, "We'll split up two and two - keep one of my team here with you."

"You sure? Who knows what you'll find down there." He asked hesitantly.  
She turned to Miranda, both women clambering to their feet."Miranda, stay with Garrus. Keep him alive for me."

I'm not so sure splitting up is a good idea..." Jacob trailed off at her death glare.

"Who are these guys anyway?" Garrus inquired, tilting his head to the side curiously. His voice sounds gruff to his own ears, but it's not something a human could pick up on.

"Jacob Taylor and Miranda Lawson, it's a long story."

The rest of the fight passed in a blur for Garrus, he remembered Shepard's voice very loud and clear over the comm, bullets, blood, and lastly, the booming death threats screamed by Tarak and he hovered in front of the room in a warship. He dives towards cover. But he's too slow, or the gunship is too fast, and he feels a hot fiery sensation across his body as bullets rip through his armour and natural plating. Falling to his knees, he's crawling towards cover when he feels a scorching heat slam into his face.

He can hear them fighting, and Shepard screaming, but he can't move. He can see his blue blood pooling beneath his cheek, dyeing the carpet and tile a royal blue, but his body won't respond. Shepard stands above him, a grenade launcher held tight to her chest and fury on her drawn features, and he finally understands.

She was just an angel sent to carry him away.

He let himself fall limp, ignoring some of the pain to watch the events unfold before him with one eye groggily forced open. He hears more mercs assaulting the room, but his vision went black for a moment and it somehow seemed so much more unimportant. It's warm where he is, he doesn't want to go back to the pain and the cold and the exhaustion. He'd been resigned to his death for far too long now. He thought he'd come to Omega to do that right thing but here he is, killing kids hired by the real criminals, his team is dead, he let himself get pinned down.

"Garrus!" Shepard sobbed, sinking to her knees to evaluate the damage, "Garrus, come on, stay awake,Vakarian."  
She set her grenade launcher gently down onto the floor, "Come on, big guy, I need you for the next big battle. We have to save everyone again." she said this in her commander voice, tinged with hysteria

And now he was confused. Was she trying to take him to whatever lies beyond this life, or was she trying to keep him here? The former felt right, the latter much more difficult. But… he thinks that she's alive, and he knows that she needs him, he doesn't want to let go. Garrus claws his way back through the clearing mist, homing in on her voice as she murmurs his name, trying to grasp some form of consciousness. With a choking gasp, he opens his eyes and looks at her, kneeling beside him. He draws a shuddering breath, reflexively pulling his rifle closer.

"We're getting you out of here Garrus. Just hold on." She cried, holding back tears. She turned to Miranda, "Radio Joker; make sure Chakwas is ready for us. He looks bad."

The rest of the time went by in a blur for Garrus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to do at least 3 chapters a month <3


End file.
